'Just Breathe'

don't rush through the trails of life

Oh, I'm a lucky man
To count on both hands
The ones I love
Some folks just have one
Yeah, others they got none

Over the holidays, my wife and I, our three kids and my parents took the yearly pilgrimage to an Austin tradition as commercialized and overproduced as the rest of them: The Trail of Lights. We happened to take it on the one night it’s been butt-ass cold in Austin so far this Winter.*

Well, until this weekend that is. Thank you, Senator Cruz for being the State’s very own groundhog. A less cute Punxsutawney Phil.

How was the experience at Zilker Park, you ask? Well, my youngest was cold, my middle was whiny and my oldest was ungrateful. But, they weren’t the baddest of the bunch. That infamous award goes to yours truly. My behavior at the outing reminded me of Beverly DeAngelo’s iconic line in Christmas Vacation: “it’s Christmas, we’re all miserable.” You see, I was surly, I was impatient, I was the worst.

And then in other moments during the holidays during the assembling toys, the frantic search for batteries, the stress of cramped houses, or sometimes the watching of other folks lose their own minds, it illustrated to me how so often in life we are simply white knuckling experiences and wanting them to be over. Parents of young kids (like me) are especially guilty.

Then I think of what our first response usually is when we lose someone we love. “I wish we had one more Christmas, one more vacation, one more game.” How many times when I’m with my kids in public, even if they’re acting a fool, do they make some old folks’ day? “I remember those days. Mine are grown now.” The longing for the days that seemed like they took forever and were exhausting.

It’s been almost five years exactly since I lost one of my close friends unexpectedly, Aaron. He was a mountain of a person and man, yet he died suddenly, leaving behind his wife and four kids. I miss him terribly. I wish we could anger each other over an argument over the Longhorns versus the Aggies or talk about fatherhood. But, it’s also not lost on me that I don’t have the same hole in my life that his absence still represents for his own family. And in moments of peace this Christmas, I thought about that. I remembered that I’m in this rare liminal space where my kids are young and still adore me, my parents are healthy, most of my friends are still here and thriving. Even my beloved dog, though almost 12, who represents a turning point in my battle with depression, is still here and healthy. So, why sometimes do I/do We want to simply get through things? Because right here, right now is one of the rarest times I’ll ever have.

The Pearl Jam song Just Breathe has brought me great comfort in thinking through this, in knowing I’m in a season that won’t last forever, or even very long at all.

Did I say that I need you?
Oh, did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t, I’m a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
As I come clean

Nothing you would take
Everything you gave
Hold me ‘til I die
Meet you on the other side

I know someday there will be someone(s) who I’ll be wanting one more Christmas, one more game, one more cold Trail of Lights with. And when I do, I just hope it’s not because I clenched my fists and closed my eyes through everything else that came before it.